


Hazel & Cerulean

by magical_girl_394



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Ambrooks, Anal Sex, Dean Ambrose is a kinky man, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Punkbrose - Freeform, Romance, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magical_girl_394/pseuds/magical_girl_394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sighing profusely, Dean finally cracked and opened his mouth to speak.</p>
<p>"Look, Punk..." Dean started. "The real reason I got you to ride along with me is because... I desperately need to have a serious conversation with you. I couldn't find the perfect time, or the proper place to do this with you. I wanted us to actually be alone together."</p>
<p>Punk snorted again.</p>
<p>"It was urgent," Dean retorted. "I didn't want to wait any longer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hazel & Cerulean

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys!! This is my first ever completed fanfic. Yes, it's wrestling, but try giving it a chance!! You just might like it. :3 Also, it is fairly long, so I hope you guys don't mind long stories. Hope that you guys and gals are fans of Ambrooks!! :D Feel free to comment after reading, if you'd like. Feedback is always welcome. Thanks!! :D

"Punk... I know you're in there. Open up."

The voice of Paul Heyman's voice ran through CM Punk's head like a jackhammer drilling through his skull.

Punk had just ended a match with all three members of The Shield, yet again this week, and he was fairly roughed up. He was feeling particularly bitchy, and he really didn't want to have anybody coming around to bother him... especially a certain Mr. Heyman.

With Paul hammering away at the door, Punk breathed an annoyed sigh, and proceeded to get up. He slowly walked over to the door, and opened it.

"What do you want, Paul?" Punk asked, with a noticeably irritated  edge to his voice. Opening the door even wider, he stepped aside, allowing Heyman to step foot into his locker room.

"Punk, listen..." Paul started. Looking up at the ceiling with a slight grin, he continued, "I know that your match with The Shield ended terribly. You're clearly banged up. You did fairly well out there."

"What are you getting at, Paul?" Punk said. "I'm not in the mood for any bullshit."

"Right, I'm getting to that." Returning his gaze to Punk, he said, "I got you a one-on-one match with one of the members of The Shield. It's next week, and it's a No Holds Barred Match. Anything goes, and you can beat the living life out of your opponent. I believe that this is a fantastic opportunity to show those goons, and the fans, why exactly you're dubbed the Best In The World. I hope that you're fairly satisfied," Paul finished with a Cheshire cat-like grin.

Sighing, Punk returned to his seat, and ran his hands through his hair.

"What good is that going to do me?" he scoffed. "I'm sick of fighting those clowns. All they do is piss me off. I'm getting really tired of the one-on-three handicap matches. I never have the upper hand."

Paul sat down beside him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "As true as that may be, Punk, there's one of them that you haven't squared off with one-on-one yet." Paul stopped to smile, then went on. "Are you familiar with a Mr. Dean Ambrose, by any chance? Of course you are. He's your opponent next week. The other members won't be at ringside, so you're at a full advantage."

Punk stayed silent the entire time that Paul spoke. He thought of what the chances were that he could really beat Ambrose, without Dean needing any assistance from Rollins and Reigns. The bouts that Punk has had with all three of them beating him down into the mat were actually pretty great, despite the fact that Punk had to fend for himself, without any help.

After remaining quiet for a few minutes, Punk looked at Paul, as Punk's head was hanging down the entire time that he talked away.

"Okay... fine," Punk decided. "This sounds fairly acceptable. I don't have a problem with this. As much as I hate to say it, I'm somehow surprisingly pleased with this bout. Thanks, Paul." He looked over at Heyman and gave a small smile.

Paul chuckled. "Don't thank me... this wasn't my idea. All three of them came up to me backstage after your match ended, and proposed..." Stopping to look at the unimpressed look on Punk's face, he went on. "...Actually, I should say, they demanded that one of them had a match with you next week. It wasn't an offer; it was basically an order. So... that's why I'm here, right now, letting you know about this, rather than you finding out about it later on."

Punk sighed heavily, a tiny tick beginning to pulsate in his temple. He ran his hands through his hair once more.

"You know, they can be very intimidating," Paul added.

Getting up, Punk walked across the room, grabbing a towel and some clothes. He cocked his head a bit at Paul, speaking softly but clearly. "Let them know that Dean is getting his match. And if the other two interfere, there will be hell to pay."

Paul stood up, rubbing his hands together, once again showing his Cheshire cat-like grin. "Attaboy, Punk. That's what I want to hear. They don't call you the Best In The World for no reason, you know."

"Okay, Paul, I get it. Enough with the flattery," Punk drawled. "Now make with the exiting from my room. I'm grimy and aching all over because of that match, and I need a shower. Text me when everything is sorted out," Punk yelled, as Paul shuffled out of the door.

"Will do, Punk!!" he screamed down the hall.

 

•••

 

Punk was stretching his muscles in the hallway, thinking about his upcoming bout. He had his music playing while physically readying his body. He could think thoroughly while the music blasted into his ears, and it eased his mind as well. He couldn't get his mind of the fact that he was finally getting a fair match. A one-on-one bout with no rules, and nobody getting in the way of Punk showing off his raw talent. He couldn't have been more pleased with the news that Paul had delivered to him the previous week.

He was in the middle of a bridge, relaxing and letting his mind ease before the match, when he saw three long, dark shadows approaching him. He turned the volume down on his phone so that he could hear what was going on. Shutting his eyes due to a growing irritation, he spoke. "What could you three possibly want?"

"To let you know that you should watch your back Punk," came Seth Rollins' somewhat light voice. "When you're fighting Dean, we're going to be all you can think about. You're going to be scared, and we will smell it."

"When it comes to us," Roman Reigns' deep voice boomed, "You should never let your guard down. Just because your only facing one of us, doesn't mean that you shouldn't be on the lookout for the rest of us."

Letting his back hit the floor, Punk decided to get up and look each one of the in the face. There wasn't a glint of fear in his eye at all as he stared them down, one by one.

"And Punk..." Dean Ambrose finally sounded. He had a murderous look in his eye, going along with the rusty edge when he opened his mouth to talk. "Don't expect me to take it easy on you. I don't care if my boys aren't with me during our match... I'm going to beat you down like a dog. And when I win, my brothers will come down, and we will have you DOMINATED!!" he yelled at the end of his sentence.

He could swear that Dean gave him a slight raise of an eyebrow, along with a tiny grin. Then again, he was probably just imagining it. Ignoring it, Punk smirked and shook his head. Gazing at all of them, he said, "I'll be waiting."  
The Shield looked at one another, then glared at him. As they began to turn and walk off, Punk spoke once more.

"Oh, and by the way, Dean," he said sardonically, "Get ready to have your head kicked off." Staring at Seth and Roman, he continued. "And if you two Neanderthals get in my way, I'll put you both to sleep." With that being said, Punk took off, as The Shield nonchalantly grinned.

 

•••

 

The bell sounded, signaling the beginning of their match. The crowd was slightly silent, waiting for the two gladiators to lock up. Shooting daggers at one another, they begin to run at each other head-on. Punk gets the first hit, locking his fist right on Dean's jaw. Dean returns the favor by punching Punk in the gut. They go back and forth like this for quite a while, exchanging blows without hitting the mat. Blow for blow, neither one didn't seem to want to go down. Neither man didn't want to show weakness.

'This is getting real tiresome,' Punk thinks to himself, then finally does something different. Pushing Dean away, he does his roundhouse kick. He nails it. Dean falls to the mat like a sack of potatoes. Punk covers him for a pin, but Dean kicks out at two and a half. 

Instead of getting angry, he decided to try something else, something that nobody would expect. Punk walks over to the corner of the ring, and gets himself into a forward-leaning position, bending his legs in the process. He eyes Dean, waiting for him to get up and walk towards him.

Ambrose snaps back into reality after being in a daze for a few minutes, and begins to get up. Seeing this, Punk readies himself for what he's about to do. Once Ambrose gets to his feet, he spins around to see Punk running full speed at him. He doesn't have time to react when Punk hits him with a spear, which happened to be Reigns' finisher. Down goes Dean again, and Punk covers him for the pin.

The referee hits the mat and slaps it three times, and the bell goes off. As short as it was, Punk had won the match. The crowd went wild when Punk's music rang through the speakers.

Getting out of the ring, Punk walks over to the timekeeper's area to grab a microphone. After receiving one, he heads back to the ring. Instead of climbing between the ropes, he climbs up the ropes and sits down on a turnbuckle. He eyes Dean maliciously, who is still down on his back, and he raises the mic to his lips.

"I have something to say to those two bumbling clowns in the back, and you better damn well listen up good." He looked amongst the fans in the stands, who were cheering and shouting Punk's name. Licking his lips a bit, he went on. 

"Rollins... Reigns... I know you're both still in the building. And I know that you both saw what I did to your little buddy here." He then pointed at Ambrose, who had rolled out of the ring as Punk talked. "I'm calling you out." The crowd erupted. "I want you both to get down here, step into this ring, and fight me. Come at me with everything you got. I'm not backing down from any of you. I'm the Best In The World, and I always prove it when I'm in a battle!! I will not lose to you!!"

The crowd screamed and cheered for punk once more. No sooner did Punk finish his sentence, The Shield's music erupted, and they started making their way through the stands. Heading back to the timekeeper's area, he grabbed a chair, and slid under the ropes, back inside the ring. Poised to fight, he held the chair in both hands, waiting for Rollins and Reigns to enter the ring, so that Punk could attack.

Wasting little time, Seth and Roman entered the ring, preparing to ambush Punk. Raising the chair, he started to swing as Rollins and Reigns went after him. He managed to get a few hits in on the both of them, before he's quickly taken out by Reigns with a Superman Punch. Seth and Roman proceeded to kick, shove, punch, pull, and anything else they could do to him while he was down. 

Suddenly, Dean is back in the ring, with little realization to Punk. Rollins and Ambrose picked him up, as Reigns screamed into the air, signifying the commencing of the Triple Power Bomb. With Punk poised on Roman's neck and shoulders, along with the help of the other two, down he went, crashing brutally into the mat below. Satisfied with their work, all three men looked down upon Punk, who was writhing in pain, with machismo smirks plastered on their faces.

 

•••

 

"Face it, Paul... I'm not going to be able to take them all down singlehandedly," Punk retorted. Reaching for his ice pack, he said, "I'm just no match for them. They get me every time." He slammed the ice pack against his head and groaned.

"Au contraire, good sir," chided Heyman. "In a way, you did show them that you're able to defend yourself in a one-on-three predicament. Desperate times, desperate measures."

"But I hardly did anything, besides swinging a chair around," Punk told Paul, with exasperation creeping up in his voice.

Rubbing his face, Paul sighed. "At least you tried." He then stood up, and made his way towards the exit of Punk's locker room.

"Where are you going, Paul?" he asked, his words rising in volume a bit.

"I'm going to leave, and let you rest. Clearly you've taken too many hits to the head," was Heyman's answer. With those final words, he left. 

After Paul left, Punk decided to go, also. He collected his things, without changing out of his wrestling gear, and walked out the door. He didn't want to stay in his locker room any longer; he felt a tad uncomfortable, and he wanted to relax and unwind in his room, and slam his face down on a pillow. He was tired, and he was frustrated. He didn't feel like sticking around for much longer.  
He was nearing the exit of the building, to head to he parking lot, when he heard a soft, yet gruff, chatter coming from behind him.

"Hey, you got a minute?" came the mystery man. Punk came to realize that it was Dean Ambrose talking to him. He didn't have to see his face to know who that distinct voice belonged to.

Sighing, Punk spun around. He saw Dean standing there, empty-handed, changed into regular street clothes. He wore a dark opened hoodie, which revealed an also dark DARE t-shirt underneath. His faded jeans were ripped at the knees, and he had heavy-looking boots on. Punk had a strange feeling sitting in his gut when his eyes landed on him.

"...I suppose I do," Punk answered. "What do you want? Are you hoping for a rematch? Because as much as I'd love to pummel you right here and now, I honestly don't feel like it, and I really don't want to waste my remaining energy on you."

Smirking, Dean replied, "Don't worry, I'll get my rematch, but that's not what I wanted you for." Searching Punk from head to toe, he asked, "Do you want a lift?"

Punk had a questioning look in his eyes. He narrowed his eyebrows at Dean, ever so slightly.

"Don't worry, Punk. I don't plan on doing anything to you," Dean swore. "I just figured you could use a ride to your place. You look like you can use a bit of company."

Punk snorted, rolling his eyes. 

"Where's your stuff?"

"Already loaded up in my car," Ambrose responded, still smirking.

Punk breathed through his nose, contemplating. Dean eyed him the entire time, patiently waiting for some sort of response. 

After a few moments of pondering, Punk gave him his answer. "Fine. Let's go."

Together they walked in dead silence. Neither person let out a single peep, nor did they even look at one another. They quickly found Dean's parking space, and placed Punk's luggage in the back seat. Once the men were finished, they hopped in the car and sped off.

They were riding in the car for some time, both men continuing to remain quiet. Dean focused his attention to the busy Chicago roads, while Punk just looked out of his window, watching all the vehicles and colors of stoplights passing them by. The midnight hustle and bustle of the Windy City's streets wasn't entirely peaceful, but Punk was glad to have something to gawk at for a few good minutes. He really enjoyed the sites and sounds of his hometown. Everything just seemed so much more simpler when he was here.

Sighing profusely, Dean finally cracked and opened his mouth to speak.

"Look, Punk..." Dean started. "The real reason I got you to ride along with me is because... I desperately need to have a serious conversation with you. I couldn't find the perfect time, or the proper place to do this with you. I wanted us to actually be alone together."

Punk snorted again.

"It was urgent," Dean retorted. "I didn't want to wait any longer."

Punk remained silent as Dean took a turn around a busy corner.

"I'm going to be upfront with you about this, Phil."

Punk suddenly turned his head, his narrowing gaze set on Dean. 

"You know I don't like it when people refer to me by my actual name, Dean," he sneered, with heavy emphasis on Dean's name.

Ambrose sighed. "Get over it."

Punk frowned, but didn't argue, so Dean continued.

"I've been meaning to have this talk with you for weeks... if not longer." Pulling up to Punk's placed, he parked his car along the sidewalk, and shut off the ignition. "I was nervous to chat with you, but now is the perfect opportunity to do it."

"Well, if you decide to keep going on like this, I mind as well invite you in," Punk said. He opened up the passenger side door, exiting the vehicle. He opened up the back door to collect his belongings, along with Ambrose's. He shut both doors, and briskly toed up his walkway. Ambrose sped along behind him, after locking up his car.

They stepped foot into Punk's place, and set their things by the entrance. Shutting the door behind them, Punk removed his footwear and sat sown in the living room. He was stretched out along a pleather sofa.

"Are you going to join me sometime today?" Punk shot at Dean.

"Uh... yeah," he answered back. "I'll be right there."

Having his gym bag placed by the door, he joined Punk in the living room. He placed himself directly across from Punk, in another seat.

Punk looked him square in the face, not blinking. 

"Now, Mr. Ambrose... what is it that you could possibly beg of me?" he said smugly.

Dean sat there, refusing to speak for a while, being too afraid to mention anything.

"You drove me here to talk," Punk said. He watched Ambrose as he awkwardly hung his head. "Are you going to speak sometime tonight? If not, take your stuff and go. I'm tired, and I'm sweaty, and--"

"Phil, shut up for a minute," Dean suddenly spoke up. He raised his head, with a sad sort of look plastered onto his face.

Punk frowned, but didn't speak.

"As I mentioned earlier in the car, I've been meaning to get this off my chest for quite a while. I was just too damn nervous to say anything." Dean scratched his face, then went on. "I had to get you alone. It need to be as discreet as possible, and private so nobody could get around us while we were chatting."

"So... what's this all about?" Punk asked, shaking his head a little.

"I'm getting to that!!" Dean sneered. He then sighed heavily, rubbing his face in the process. "Okay, Phil, you want it all out in the open? Okay, fine." 

Ambrose stood up, taking a few steps towards Punk, eyeing him down. Punk also stared at Dean, not breaking a sweat.

Dean stood a few inches from him when he opened his mouth. 

"Phil... I want you."

There was a gleam in Dean's eyes as he spoke his words, something Punk had noticed. He found it sexy, he admitted to himself, but he wouldn't say it out loud. Not just yet.

Ambrose spoke again, his voice a bit shaky. "I've never pined for any guy before. I've never wanted someone so badly in my entire life. I need you, Phil. I really need you. My body is aching for you. I don't care if you don't return my feelings... this is something my heart desperately needs."

Punk shook his head. "I don't understand, Ambrose. Is this some kind of a joke?"

Dean sighed, something that he seemed to be doing quite a bit during this conversation.

"Dean, even if you did like me, it's probably some weird man-crush that you got on me," Punk said. "It just feels like high school kid stuff."

"This isn't some high school fairy tale, Punk. What I feel for you isn't anything like that teenage bullshit. This isn't puppy love. It's something more... something beyond even my wildest expectations," Dean retorted angrily. "I never thought that something like this would ever happen between us. We're supposed to be enemies, and yet... I don't see you as somebody that I despise. I see you as somebody that I want to grab onto, and never let go of."

Dean sat down again, feeling frustrated. He kept his gaze on Punk as he continued. His tone was nearly a whisper. "I didn't want this to blossom into anything. I didn't want to open my mouth to you, or anyone else. I didn't want to tell you for the longest time, but the thought of me not expressing myself to you was driving me mad."

Ambrose finished speaking, and he seemed hurt. He tried to hide it, but he was terrible at ignoring it. Punk could see it, and Dean knew it.

"I'm not really sure what to say, Dean," Punk responded ever so softly. "I don't really know what to make of this."

Dean continued to look upset, but didn't talk. He looked so down, as if he lost his best friend. He regretted saying anything at all. He was better off quiet. 

Punk wasn't sure of what to do. He watched Dean, somehow starting to feel odd. He had a strange sensation in the pit of his gut, the same feeling that he got earlier when he noticed the gleam in Dean's eye. He gazed upon Ambrose's lips, which looked as smooth as they did lonely. He then directed his attention to Dean's eyes, a shocking and shimmery blue color, just like the ocean. Punk also didn't want to admit this aloud, but he wanted Dean. He just wasn't comfortable with saying so.

Without hesitation, Punk stood up. He took a step or two forward. "Get up, Dean," he said. "I want you to be face-to-face with me."  
Dean, too, stood up, taking a few steps towards him, so that they were inches away from one another. Just as Punk was slowly becoming lost in Ambrose's beautiful blue orbs, Dean was feeling the exact same, as he couldn't rip himself away from the questioning hazel eyes that belonged to Punk.

Out of sheer curiosity, and the fact that he couldn't resist it any longer, Punk gently cupped Dean's face with one hand, the other hand occupied by having a hold of Dean's waist. Not a second later, Punk slowly moved in, getting closer to his face. Both of their hearts were beating frantically, but they didn't care. 

Punk's mouth landed on Dean's, and it was the greatest thing he'd ever felt. It was a gentle smooch, the touch of Dean's lips reminding him of a soft fabric. Dean placed his hands along Punk's waist, pulling him in a tad closer, so that they had the opportunity to explore each other's mouths. They parted lips. Dean lightly placed his tongue in Punk's mouth, the moist writhing of it not bothering either of them. Punk returned the favor by massaging Dean's tongue with his own. It was so thrilling, they thought, because they expected it to happen, but neither man wanted to be truthful and upfront about it.

Punk took his palms off of Dean, and began running them through Dean's sandy colored hair. Punk felt as though he was grabbing a handful of feathers. He slowly rubbed around Ambrose's head, wanting to feel every part of him. He liked what he had felt, and he loved the fact that Dean wasn't stopping him. 

Ambrose then pulled away from Punk, ending the kiss. He stared at Punk longingly, sharing a smile with him, as Punk just blinked in wonder. Dean felt numb from head to toe. The sensation of both men touching each other, the fact that they were embracing was nearly too much to handle. But it was good, and Dean wanted so much more. Punk felt the exact same way. He had thrilling chills all over, and he loved how it felt. Neither man had been with another man before, but oddly enough, this seemed right. It should've been wrong of them to be doing all of this, considering that they were supposed to be enemies, but that didn't matter. It was all out in the open, and there was no turning back.

They caught their breath, a slight grin beginning at the corners of their mouths.

"So, what would you call that, Phil?" Dean pondered. He raised an eyebrow, teasing Punk a bit.

With his smile growing even bigger, Punk replied, though it was more like a question. "An experiment?"

Dean tilted his head back, letting out a short, hearty laugh. "Well, that's interesting," he admitted.

"Dean, I didn't want us to stop," Punk blurted out out of nowhere. "Your touch, your taste... everything about you is maddening to me. I'm glad that you poured your heart out to me... now it's my turn." Letting Dean go, he took a step back and inhaled sharply.

"Dean... ever since you debuted, I've had this strange feeling about you. I've had my eye on you this whole time, and it's never left. I don't know what it is, but I like it so damn much. I like this feeling, and I love what's happening between us. My only wish was that this should've come out a long time ago.

"Even earlier, I had a feeling resting in the pit of my stomach about you. No matter how much I tried to shrug it off, I couldn't stop thinking about you. You've been on my mind for a long time, but I never bothered to speak up. I was nervous. I didn't want to be ridiculed. I didn't want any overbearing stress. I never wanted to be honest with myself. But look where we are now. I don't regret doing, or saying any of this, and--" 

Dean stormed up to Punk, cutting him off with a deep kiss. Punk embraced him greedily, secretly thanking Dean for putting an end to his incoherent nonsense. The mashing of their lips together was comforting. Pulling away, Ambrose ended their kiss, grinning wildly. "Phil..." he whispered softly.

"Yeah?" Punk replied, also in a hushed tone.

"You ramble too much."

Punk smiled sheepishly at Dean. At that moment, Punk took his hand, slipping it into Dean's, and led the both of them to Punk's room.

"Where are we going?" Dean piped up.

"You'll see," Punk replied in a low voice.

They both gradually made their way down the hallway. Dean looked around at the walls, looking at some old framed photos of Punk and his other family. Everyone in the locker room knew that his childhood with his blood family was never up for discussion, and there weren't happy happy memories that Punk could ever recall... then again, nobody ever asked, nor were they told. At least in these pictures were from a better time, Dean thought absentmindedly.

"Enjoying yourself?" Punk spoke. 

Dean didn't come to the realization that he had stopped walking to look at the old photos that hung on the walls.

Dean looked at him, an awkward pinkness rising in his cheeks. "Er... yeah. I was just looking. Sorry about that." He then smiled, pretending that nothing happened.

They reached his room. Stepping inside, Punk turned the light switch on. Dean noticed how neat the room was, despite the fact that some of Punk's wrestling gear was placed out on his bed. Punk had more photos on the four corners of the bedroom, not only of his second family, but of comic book covers, Rancid posters, and other paraphernalia. 

Punk went over to his bed, placing his wrestling gear onto a chair in the corner. Then, Punk walked to Dean, once again putting his hands on Ambrose's face. Dean complied. They leaned in for another kiss, the warm sensation coursing through their veins. They rubbed one another, reaching wherever their hands could touch. Dean teasingly ran his hands down Punk's back, feeling the smooth flesh against his palms.

Punk moaned into Dean's mouth, savoring every bit of enjoyment that they have together. They slowly laid down on his bed, continuing their embrace. Punk then decided to take matters into his own hands, literally. He broke away from the kiss, only to sit up and undo Ambrose's jeans. Dean stood up so that Punk could pull them off. He had to kick his boots off in order for Punk to fully remove his jeans. Punk pulled them down Dean's legs, as he stared at the growing bulge in Ambrose's boxers. He pondered how big it was. A small blush slowly worked its way into his cheeks.

Kicking his jeans aside, Dean proceeded to undress Punk. He waved Dean's hands away.

"I'm not finished with you yet, Ambrose," Punk growled. He stripped off the hoodie that clung to Dean's warm body, and gazed at his torso. Punk couldn't recall ever seeing Ambrose shirtless. It was something that he was dying to look at.

Touching him, Punk tugged at the hem of Dean's DARE shirt. Letting his arms relax, Dean let Punk do the work. He slowly pulled his shirt up over Ambrose's head, admiring the look of his belly. He saw some sandy colored hair going up his body, also. He liked what he was seeing. Dean put his arms up in the air, as Punk pulled the shirt off over his head. Tossing it away, Punk gave him a lookover.

"Dean... I can't believe how well sculpted your body is," Punk muttered. There was still a growl in his voice, a sign of wanting. He ran his fingers down Dean's chest, staring at the hair that covered the pecks and part of the belly of Dean. It felt soft, whereas his flesh felt like a furnace. It was hot to the touch, and Punk wanted more.

Dean moaned as Punk ran his hands up and down his back, then returning to the front of his body. He wanted Punk so badly, but all Punk was interested in was groping every morsel of him. He didn't mind, but he needed more. Punk would have to wait until later  to worship Ambrose's body. 

Not being able to stand his sexual desire and growing frustration any longer, Dean pulled Punk in greedily for a kiss. Punk's hands never left Dean's body during the rapid kissing. He loved the touch of Ambrose, and he didn't want to cease what he was doing.  
Dean stopped the kiss momentarily, demanding Punk to strip down to his boxers.

"Why can't you just undress me?" Punk pouted. With a heavy sigh, and a smirk to match, Dean obliged. He bent down to take off Punk's trunks, slowly. He teased Punk on the way down to his ankles, by breathing his hot breath on his hips, and giving him a few nibbles along the way. Punk moaned, whispering incoherent words that Dean couldn't translate. But he knew that Phil was really loving the attention.

After removing the trunks, Dean pushed him down on the bed, ambushing and smothering the Straight Edge man with more heartfelt pecks, letting them connect with his neck, chest, and anywhere else Ambrose's lips could reach. Feeling the erection pressing up against his slightly hairy belly, Ambrose smirked, wanting to take advantage of the situation.

Scooting downward, Dean took Punk's length in his hand and began stroking him. He started by taking his time, listening to Phil gasp and moan under Ambrose's hypnotic touch. He then began moving vigorously faster, squeezing with every jerk, causing  Punk's voice to pitch higher in volume.

"You like that, don't ya?" Dean growled. "You fuckin' love it when I tug on your sexy little fuckstick, don't ya?"

Punk whispered inaudibly.

"What did you say?" Dean rumbled.

"Suck me. Suck my cock," Phil whimpered. "Please..."

"You want me to take you in my mouth, Phillip?" Ambrose sneered, still tugging away at Punk's meat. "Tell me how bad you want it. Tell me how much you need it. Beg, you little bitch."

"Fuck... I'm gonna cum, Dean," he warned, tensing up and arching his back a bit. "Please, just lick and suck it."

With a devilish grin, Dean took Punk in his mouth, engulfing him down to his balls. Punk groaned loud, grabbing Ambrose's hair with one hand, and holding onto his sheets with the other. He tightened the grip as he ejaculated down Dean's throat, panting in the process. Dean didn't gag once as Punk emptied himself.

Pulling his mouth away, Ambrose got off of the bed and stood up, still with a grin spread across his face. 

He wiped his lips with his fingers, sucking whatever was left of Punk's release.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Punk? You wanted it, and I gave it to you. You fucking loved it."

Punk blinked sheepishly, trying to catch his breath.

Dean stripped off his boxers, finally letting his erection spring free. He stared down Punk as he began stroking himself. Another smile crept up across his rosy, peach fuzz-covered cheeks, a moan daring to escape his mouth. He was fairly good sized, Punk noticed, just like he was. He couldn't help but stare, licking his lips. He felt himself rapidly getting hard again.

"You want me?" Dean finally groaned.

Punk, blinking, was too dumbfounded to talk.

Dean let out a low growl, then chuckled. He still stood in his place, teasing Punk by continuing to pleasure himself.

"Fucking tell me that you want me, bitch!!" Dean growled.

Punk narrowed his eyes, refusing to talk at first.

"Open your fucking yap, and tell me that you want me, Brooks!! Tell me that you want my cock!!"

Punk gave in. "Fine!! I want you, okay?" he yelled. "Just fucking take me, Dean. Fuck me!! Ram your cock up my ass, and make me your bitch!!"

With one last stroke, Dean ceased the self pleasure. He had Punk defeated, and it was just what he needed. He got back down onto the bed, giving Punk's body angry, passionate licks and kisses. He moaned as he gently bit down on certain spots, savoring every bit. He was truly enjoying himself, and he wished that this night never ended.

"I knew you'd give in," Dean said in between smooches.

Punk didn't argue. He knew that Ambrose was right.

Suddenly, he stopped. Dean sat up, smirking.

"Turn over," he demanded. "Lie down on your stomach. And no matter what I do, don't move, and don't you dare think about resisting me."

Doing what he was told, he flipped over onto his stomach. Ambrose then left the room, his eyes not leaving that beautiful man's naked body until he was completely out of the room. Punk didn't want to open his mouth to speak; he could only wonder where Dean could've taken off to.

It seemed like an eternity before he came back. Punk looked over, noticing that Ambrose had items in his hands. He noticed that one of the items was a bottle of lube. The other one, though... he tried to look at the questioning item, but he was quickly noticed gawking by Dean.

Placing the items down, Dean marched over. Jamming a finger in his face, Dean spoke in a low tone.

"Eyes down."

Punk swallowed, and turned his gaze away, just like he was told. He felt a bit nervous, because he had no damn idea what that lunatic was planning. At the same time, he was feeling a surge of excitement running through him, causing his cock to twitch multiple times. Phil had no idea what was happening, and he secretly wished that he was in control of the situation, but he had something inside him convincing him that Ambrose knew what he was up to. He really couldn't wait to see what Dean had in store for him.

Shifting behind him, Dean crept up and placed something over his face. He shoved a ball in his mouth. Punk then realized what he had in mind... Dean had placed a gag over him, muffling every little word that was tempted to be said. Dean then crawled on top of him, taking his hands and cuffing them. 

'Turns out Ambrose had been hiding another special something from me,' Punk thought to himself.

After getting the proper accessories fitted onto Punk, Dean got up off if the bed, feeling pleased with his work. 

"Now I have you exactly where I want you," Dean chided. Looking down at the helpless man, he spoke again. "There's just one more adjustment that needs to be made... stick your ass up in the air for me. Spread your legs, too."

Phil did so, without any hesitation.

He drooled over what was in front of him. "Fucking perfect," Dean grumbled. He smiled at what he saw. Not once letting his gaze leave the sight of Punk's body, Ambrose picked up the bottle of lube that he left at the bottom of the bed. He squirted some on his fingers and rubbed it up and down his shaft. There he stood, naked as the day he was born, still with that smug look on his face.

He got on the bed, placing himself on his knees. Dean stared at Punk's bottom, knowing that he'd be inside his man within a matter of seconds.

"You better be ready for me, Phillip," he drawled.

Punk, with the ball in his mouth, muffled his words. Dean knew that he couldn't understand what was being said, but he didn't care.

Dean was ready. No more hesitation. He needed it. Grabbing himself with one hand, and placing his other hand on Punk's hip, Ambrose crammed his cock inside of Phil's asshole, driving it in as deep as he could. He heard the loud, muffled moan coming from Punk as he entered. Dean himself moaned.

"Fuck..." he gasped.

He stopped once he was completely in. He wanted to enjoy every minute of this, but he didn't want to risk injuring Punk with his prick. "You okay?" Dean breathed.

Punk muffled his response. It sort of sounded like a yes, Ambrose assumed.

Without a moment's notice, Dean began thrusting. He wasn't exactly gentle, moving in and out of the bound up man quickly and with a bit of pain thrown in. Dean grabbed Phil's hips and dug his nails into him with each painful thrust.

Punk, having his hands behind his back, couldn't fight off Dean for a moment. He wanted to pull the gag of of his mouth and plead with Dean to slow down some. He was enjoying this, but he was also being hurt at the same time. Punk moaned and groaned as Dean drove himself in deeper and harder. There was a tear threatening to run down his face.

Dean must have read Punk's mind; he suddenly slowed down, giving gentle thrusts, letting both men take a breather. Leaving his erection buried in Punk's ass, Dean bent forward, removing the gag from the Straight Edge Savior's face. Punk felt his cock poking his prostate a bit, making him moan and shut his eyes. Once the gag was removed, he spoke.

"Ow."

Dean leaned forward, kissing his back. He fidgeted with the handcuffs; there was a safety lock on it, making it easier to remove the metal that trapped Punk's wrists. Dean pulled out, leaving the handsome, tattooed man feeling quite empty. Once his hands were free, he sat up and rubbed them better. 'Much better,' he thought, sighing.

"Now that you're no longer bound up," Dean said, scooting over towards him, "I want you to fuck my ass."

Punk's eyes widened. "...What?"

Dean sneered. "You fucking heard what I said. Fuck my asshole!!" 

He grabbed Punk by the head, pulling him in for a violently steamy smooch. He grabbed Punk's cock, swiftly jerking him off, readying him for entering Dean. Punk's heart skipped a beat. He grasped Ambrose's erection, joining him in a quick tug. Trying to move his head, he looked around for the lube, wanting to slick himself up. Finding it, he broke the kiss.

Dean, realizing what Phil was doing, decided to break the kiss. He let go of Punk's prick, allowing him to lube himself. Watching what he was doing, Ambrose laid down, facing Punk. He chucked a bit.

Punk looked up. "What?"

Dean snickered, shaking his head.

Punk, confused, ignored it. He finished up and sighed. He could feel his face heating up. "You ready?"

Dean smiled. "Nervous?"

"Yeah. I've never done this before. I want to do this really bad, but I don't think I'll do it right."

"Be rough with me. I won't mind," Dean winked. He flipped over onto his stomach, sticking his ass up in the air. "C'mon, pretty boy," he whispered. "You know you want to."

Blushing harder, and feeling harder than before, Punk took his spot behind Dean. He lightly placed his palms on Ambrose's bum cheeks, remembering how soft to the touch they were. He hesitated a bit, before hearing Dean grumble and curse at him.

"What's taking you so long, bitch?!! Give me what I want!! Ram my tight little--"

Punk went in, rough, just like Ambrose ordered.

"Holy fuck..." both men groaned.

For Dean, this was much anticipated. He felt that he waited far too long for this moment, but he was happy as hell that he was finally getting it. For Punk, this was one of the most hottest things that he had ever done. He just hoped that he wouldn't blow too soon.

Dean moaned, shifting himself slightly so that Phil would get inside him deeper. Punk jolted, but kept going. He began picking up speed, making Dean inaudibly whisper.

"Fuck, Dean... your hole is so fucking hot," Punk barely grunted. He was moving in and out of Dean so quickly that he could hardly get his words out. Moving one of his hands down, he grabbed Dean's cock, jerking him off profusely. He tried matching the speed of the jerking and the fucking together. It was successfully working.

"Phil..." Dean mewled. 

Hearing this was sending Punk over the edge. "Fuck... Dean... it's gonna happen," he panted. He didn't slow down, despite the warning he gave.

"Do it, you fucker," Ambrose growled. "Cum inside me. Give... me..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Phil and Ambrose simultaneously came. Punk was so weak and worn out that his knees bucked. He collapsed on Dean's back, making both men fall on the bed. Being as tired as he was, Punk didn't pull out.

Dean gasped for air. "Fuck... that was fun, huh?"

Punk smirked, adding a small chuckle. "Yeah, it was definitely interesting."

They sighed, feeling sheepish.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for making my night. Thank you for sharing all of this with me."

Dean struggled to get from under Punk. Punk then pulled out and laid down beside Ambrose. He faced Punk. "No, Phil... thank you. None of this wouldn't have happened if you didn't invite me into your home."

Punk grinned.

"Now, if you don't mind... I'm crashing at your place for the night." Dean placed a small peck on Punk's lips. He saw the look of raised eyebrows on Phil's face, and he smirked. He shut his eyes, getting ready to doze off.

"Fine. Goodnight... Jon."

Dean chuckled. Phil rolled over placing an arm across Dean's back. 'No insomnia for me tonight,' Punk thought. Not too long later, the room was filled with silence. Both men were asleep, relaxed in each other's embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> So... what's the verdict?? :3 Too long? Not long enough? Remember, feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading!! :3


End file.
